


Fatalibus

by TheSinfulPen



Category: Red Velvet (K-pop Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Final Fantasy VIII, Canon Rewrite, Drama, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, F/F, Fate & Destiny, It could be considered that, Light Angst, Mild Language, Slow Build, Slow Romance, Some Humor, is this military sci-fi?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:28:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24647209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSinfulPen/pseuds/TheSinfulPen
Summary: Irene Leonhart and Seulgi Almasy have been rivals for as long as they can remember, but unknown to them both, something beyond rivalry binds them together.
Relationships: Bae Joohyun | Irene/Kang Seulgi
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Fatalibus

**Author's Note:**

> It's obvious this will contain FFVIII spoilers, but if you don't care, you can read on ahead!  
> This is a canon rewrite, meaning I will shape the story differently and change some things to accommodate the narrative and more inclusion of Seulgi.  
> So, let's get it!

The teal ocean waltzed restlessly as the day kept moving forward. It clung to the sand and dragged it almost anxiously as the fated day inched closer and closer, the day where it would be decided whether or not there won’t be any beaches or sand anymore. Whatever happened, everything would change. The cracked grounds somewhere akin to a desert seemed to tremble discreetly, all alone and with no one to notice; it too wondered what would become of this vast, gorgeous, but haunting land when the fated day came. The vast field, full of rich grass and flowers, was unaware, maybe even peaceful, of the coming days. It did not know, it did not rush to know, and it waited with its beauty for whatever it was to come. The howling wind raced wildly across the field, taking with it the loose petals of all colors and textures, sending them high up in the air. They all wafted through it, floating along without a thought, slowly, up towards the blue skies trying to reach for the little white, cotton clouds there were. The clouds, gray, disturbed and hostile, were somewhere else.

Right above the dark sky of the rocky training ground those clouds bellowed with anguish when the twirling gunblade made its landing; sharp tip dug into the ground, not unlike the raindrops that crashed next to it. Its silver, sharp blade glistened with the dim light, the sun still hidden behind a mass of grayness that seemed to turn darker. It was too early in the morning.

Another crack of thunder, frightening as the first.

Too early for this, thought Irene Leonhart with jaded breath and a clean face. Smooth as a baby’s, youthful and almost innocent. The beads of sweat made her pale face glisten, it showed the hardwork she was putting into this 'training' session, if she could call it that at all. Truthfully, it stopped being training when another student attacked her with such force that broke Irene's balance and simultaneously broke a few rules in the forgotten Balamb Garden rule book. She had fallen back pitifully while the sky clamored, and her bleary blue eyes slowly focused towards the culprit, watching the blurr of colors morph slowly into a human she knew the name of. Far from her (yet not far enough) was the sardonic Seulgi Almasy, smirking at the little victory, unbothered by the drizzle suddenly getting harder and more violent all around them. Face already damp by sweat as well, nothing could stop this unpredictable monster, not even a bit of thunder and rain.

And yet, she stood there, waiting for her opponent — her rival — to stand up. It was a taunting, stupid smile; Seulgi could not be a good winner, not even in the smallest victory. It always, always, had to be the source of mockery.

That enraged the stoic Irene enough to become irrational, though with Seulgi it only took the snarkiest, disgusting looks for Irene to completely flip off the handle sometimes.

The god of thunder cracked its whip again, making Irene stand up with a spurt of new energy. This time she was motivated by annoyance, pride...

Competition.

The moment her gloved hand wrapped around the hilt of her gunblade — the grip of the revolver fitting so perfectly to her hands, the weight so familiar to her muscles — she charged on forward rapidly with her eyes planted on the target, whose smirk seemed to never fade. It would be a real pleasure to wipe it off her face.

Instead, defiantly, Seulgi lifted her own customized gunblade, pointing the tip menacingly towards Irene — and yet not moving an inch, not preparing, not tense, not even shaking. Another taunt, met with another holler from the thunder.

The fast approaching Irene was still too slow for Seulgi who could not get enough of that thrill of the battle; and so she began to run forward as well, her smirk turned into a machiavellian grin full of ill-intentions and frightening strength to back it up.

A back-handed slash was met with a straight one, the sharp edges of the blades clashed together with an almost satisfying CLANG! for the two soldiers. Two clashing personalities met eye to eye, not for the first time, and yet, for the first time in the beginning of this new era. Green eyes versus blue eyes; the eyes of a venenous snake versus those of a frightening lion waiting to be set free, both tainted with a desire to win. The slimmer, lighter blade of the Hyperion didn’t give, neither did the thicker, heavier one from the Revolver, because behind it was the force of two giants.

When Seulgi moved forth, Irene retrated. When Irene moved forth, Seulgi danced away gracefully to the side, eyebrows scrunching from concentration and yet was still taunting as she made it look so easy. When they both jumped back apart, Seulgi was the first to move forward with a frighteningly fast backhanded slash that Irene could only deflect with her blade by mere chance, stumbling backwards and retreating further with big skips. She held her breath and prepared for the attack that was to come, only to notice the oddly still Seulgi, who barely had an uneven breathing.

"You're soon to become SeeD, Irene. And you still run away from me?" Seulgi spat out against the rumbles of the skies. 

She didn't say it, but Irene could almost hear that impish voice remarking her cowardy behavior despite being so close to being a soldier. With rage coming up to a boil, starting to tremble with anticipation, Irene frowned and held onto the grip tightly, feeling it might slip past her at any moment. An attack was sure to come, but she didn't realize that the attack wasn't to her body but rather to her ego.

Seulgi, with the Hyperion rested on her shoulder, motioned her to come at her with everything she's got.

'Show me what you're made of, Leonhart,' said Seulgi in between implied glances and a growing, unstopabble grin. 

Full with glowing ire, though not yet riped enough to be full power, Irene ran forward with sword lifted — coming to an unexpected halt as she noticed, in that split second, the sharpness of the glistening blade coming towards her, aimed towards her heart and threatening to finish this rivalry once and for all. A thrust of the hyperion, so vile and cold, like its owner. It was an aggressive, near animal attempt to stab her opponent, while Seulgi's eyebrows furrowed with concentration and pure delight. 

By pure luck, Irene retreated and swatted the Hyperion again and again as it tried fervently to dig into the hollow vessel of the heart of the lionness. The Clinking and clanking of the blades colliding desperately seemed to amuse and inspire the dangerous waltz from the trenchcoated devil, imposing her ground with powerful strides forward, forcing the scared prey to retreat dangerously towards the rocky ground. That was the goal, Seulgi Almasy not only strived to win but to humiliate her opponent, her rival. However, the flames of the battle burned too hot with its scorching tentacles, enough to posess the misguided and enough to make the thirst for blood palpable — the sudden edge of survival too sharp for most cadets to handle.

The edge too sharp for Irene to stand there and be bullied into a corner.

Her powerful roar was one that alerted the dazed Seulgi as she felt the sword stab the mere air. Her green eyes merely slid to the side to notice the incoming attack of the raging soon-to-be SeeD. Swinging her blade with determination, she aimed for Seulgi's head, but the trustworthy Hyperion — though light and shorter than the revolver — stopped it from even reaching the short, silvery blonde mane. The cocky smirk suddenly turned into a grimace with the subtlest hint of surprise and struggle. Irene was stronger right now, angrier. This was no longer just sparring, neither it was a battle.

It was survival, instincts kicked in as they were meant to. The primitive groan of both exerting forces showed it.

"That's it, fight me," Seulgi groaned to Irene, whose intentions of hurting her were readable across her gaze. "Show me you're worthy of becoming a SeeD."

Then came the savage though smart push kick towards Irene's stomach — a tactic not taught to the cadets, but as useful as anything when in close range. It pushed Irene back enough but it didn't make her lose much balance. Instead, it gave her the necessary space to come in with a flurry of attacks of her own. Irene gritted her teeth and charged forward again with two steady grips on her blade, further feeding into Seulgi's wicked pleasure for the battle. This time, she went on the offense with aggressive slashes, letting the weight of her own heavy blade carry the dance for the two of them, only commanding its direction but not dictating its target. A flurry of violent attacks reminiscent of Seulgi's near fatal stabbing, but a lot more wild, less controlled, less graceful.

Pure, raw desperate power.

Each attack was blocked by the Hyperion, forcing Seulgi to finally use her other hand to hold the Hyperion's back in place as each clash got stronger than the following one. It forced the usually dominant, offensive Almasy back onto a corner where nothing was left to do but to defend. Impressive, very impressive, especially because not many opponents managed that but Irene Leonhart. The mirrory blade, polished and clean, was too close to comfort and the sounds of the cutlass was starting to get too close to her ears. It started to feel like the lightning was striking dangerously close to them both, the rumbling shaking the foundations of the rocks beneath their feet.

She could not allow this to happen. She had to win. 

Like a cornered fox, Seulgi gracefully moved to the side and retreated with long strides, closer to the center of this impromptu battlefield, hearing the angelical choirs as the adrenaline reached its peak. She attempted to attack the mildly distracted Irene, only to be met with the strangely fast reflexes that were unusual on the lioness. Once glance into her eyes was enough to know, she had to win this by any means.

Seulgi swung her sword about and about, knowing she wouldn't hit anything, but testing this new found agility on Irene, making her duck and jump away. 

Which was her mistake, as Seulgi suddenly lifted her gloved, empty palm towards Irene as she blindly, though vehemently, ran towards her, ready to put an end to the battle. It only took a second for that palm to create a warm, powerful sphere full of the very scorching flames that burned within the delusional knight.

"!!!"

Irene stopped a second too late. Too late to roll to the side, too late to jump out of the way. Only early enough to lift the silver blade and hold it tight in defense, knowing that the flaming sphere was coming. And it collided safely against it, but its sheer force — one of a bestial, wild mammoth fighting to survive — savagely threw the helpless cadet backwards. Her back collided against the ground and slid only for a second, dropping her weapon foolishly.

Another mistake.

One too many mistakes for a soon-to-be SeeD.

Her bleary gaze, disoriented and only driven by the danger that loomed around her, looked at Seulgi, who was enjoying this a bit too much. 

"Get up!" Shouted Seulgi who was starting to walk towards her with Hyperion on her shoulder. 

In her head, she shouted those very words. Her body felt so heavy suddenly, so hot. The flames, though not real, dug unto her skin and burned the muscles, the sheer power of it made her feel like every organ in her body was still re-arranging and getting in place. She could barely get on her knees and attempt to get up when she looked up at...

Seulgi?

For no rhyme nor reason she could think of, Seulgi's blade was lifted into the air and threatened to fall sharply to cut her in half. The impression was paralyzing, the blood-thirsty look on Seulgi's face was shocking and even frightening. Her eyes, blue like the ocean, were wide with terror she was trained to suppress, the string of horrifying violins almost audible in her ears. The cadet could barely flinch when that blade started to descend abruptly.

Then she heard that raucous BANG from the gunblade's trigger mechanism along with that powerful crack of the thunder, followed by the sharp sting in face youthful, once-scarless face. It stretched from the bridge of her nose towards her forehead and eyebrows. It throbbed, it blared, it bleed.

Like the sudden rage from the wounded Irene, who now — blade in hand and grip impossibly tight — shouted from the depths of her heart as she sought retribution for the bleeding wound on her face. The bright red blood tainted her shirt, her clothes, and the rage tainted her vision with the very color. 

The revolver's blade scrapped the rocky ground as she aimed with precision and with intentions towards that very area on Seulgi's cocky face — a face now contorted in surprise at the sudden attack, a quick hint of fear and preparation written all over it. 

Irene let the blade fly, let the tip of it cut through, and then, engulfed in white feathers and the blinding whitness, she lost all touch with reality. The feathers slowly falling turned black, floating about with no aim.

The rocky ground was now painted with the mixed blood and sweat.

Then, there was nothing. With last crack of thunder, fading and mute, the fated day had begun.

**Author's Note:**

> For those who don't know, this sequence is the FMV intro sequence in the game. It took a long time to write, but it was fun!
> 
> So, what do you guys think?


End file.
